


flowers of flesh

by tender_anaphylaxis



Category: Mabinogi (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gore, Immortals, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Spoilers(G22), Violence, Vomiting, woundfucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22275766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tender_anaphylaxis/pseuds/tender_anaphylaxis
Summary: "You have to break it in like a glove, don't you? This body," Balor says, casually. His fingertips hover at the edges of the wound like a promise. "Allow me to assist you, Milletian."--please mind the warnings. g22 spoilers, i guess? balor has a murder fetish and it's not my fault
Relationships: Milletian/Vayne (Mabinogi)
Kudos: 10





	flowers of flesh

As he wrestles the Milletian onto the damp grass, Balor's mouth hangs open like a predator tasting the air. Teague's losing blood fast, the familiar fog sweeping over his mind and extremities, arms weakening as he strains against him. He takes stock of himself; he has stab wounds in the upper abdomen, the gut, long lacerations starting from his sides, half-cauterized from the hot edge to Balor's blade. Broken ribs, broken elsewhere -- and the telltale rattle of blood seeping into his lungs. He's getting too weak to move. Nothing that would kill a Milletian, but he's lost. Again. And Balor can smell it on him, his fear and defeat. The satisfied rumble that rolls through his chest shakes Teague, too. He trembles, coughing to clear his throat of blood, to summon an ounce of defiance.

"Come now, don't look at me like that, little one," Balor chides, all-too-gently for the hand at Teague's throat, sharp edges of his gauntlets digging into his jugular. "You knew this would happen when you challenged me. You came here -- Tech Duinn, alone. You aren't strong enough. Not this time. You've just been reborn, haven't you?" His eyes run down Teague's body, pinned and pliable. "Not fit right in the new body yet." He straddles his hips in an easy motion, and Teague can only put a shaky hand against his wrist as he pushes aside his layers to expose the damage. Balor runs a gauntleted hand down his torso, raising gooseflesh behind him, and settles on the ragged edges of the puncture wound on his gut. He plays at it, teasing and smearing blood along the edge like he'd tease a cunt. The hand comes off his neck and starts pulling the edges apart, and the skin splits at the edges. 

Teague's breathing hitches. This is new. 

Balor dips into the puncture wound. The plates on his fingers catch on the walls of the wound and Teague lets out a gurgling cry. That triumphant, rumbling chuckle goes through him again. He keeps speaking. 

"You have to break it in like a glove, don't you? This body," Balor says, casually. His fingertips hover at the edges of the wound like a promise. "Allow me to assist you, Milletian."

His hand goes to his throat again, and Teague gasps in a breath moments before he screams it out, Balor's fingers suddenly knuckle-deep in his abdominal cavity. The plates feel like knives against his insides. The pain and the feeling of being  _ invaded _ makes his stomach flip violently, a dry heave forcing its way past Vayne's grip. Tears spill over. 

"S-sto--" Teague barely has the breath for even that. Balor only hums, scissoring his fingers apart, wriggling them inside and bruising something Teague doesn't know the name of. His abdomen seizes, body thrashing in reflex. Too heavy to be moved, Balor remains. Teague's mind swims, nausea roiling inside him, and he feels the walls of the wound clench and flutter obscenely around his finger. Balor laughs, and there's a filthy intensity in it.

"Like a little cunt," He coos, rapt, bearing forward as he forces another finger in. Teague gurgles and thrashes, just tearing himself open more on the digits -- he doesn't even know how many are in now. Two? Three? He feels spread impossibly wide, guts on fire. "You truly are something else, Teague--" Teague flinches, his name so reverent on the Fomor Lord's lips it makes his throat clench -- "So resilient. Still conscious. Oh." Teague dimly hears the clatter and shift of metal, and then something blunt and almost as hot as the irritated flesh itself is pushing against the edges of the abused stab wound. 

Teague bucks underneath him, drawing on some final reserve of strength to attempt to throw him off, screaming and writhing, fingers scrabbling against Balor's breastplate. No one would come; Tech Duinn is as empty of heroes as it is full of horrors. At first it amuses the Fomor Lord, but in seconds it bores him, and he sits back for a moment to take the hand that was on his neck and backhand him with it instead. A whole new wave of pain breaks over Teague's head and he sobs, senseless, the skin of his cheek split on the same sharp gauntlets that had torn his insides apart.

"Hold *still,*" Balor growls, dark eye pinning him down, and his the intensity makes Teague, in his animal panic, obey. He still moves his hands to grip his sides, one close enough to hold the wound open. His cock sinks in, blood bubbling around the stretched, ruined edges of the hole in his midriff. Balor groans, and Teague can feel the head of his cock breach his body, and this time, he does vomit. Bloody bile forces itself up and bubbles over his lips and down his face in a stinking, sour mess. It gets in his nose and burns. He rolls as much as he can to one side to cough and sputter it out, heaving and shuddering and panting, and Balor lets him, rabbit-fucking shallow into his abdominal cavity with all the grace of a fumbling teenager. Something's possessed him, Teague can see it through the tears, a wide smile spread across his face, can hear his shallow, erratic breathing. Obsessed, unhinged, he fucks deeper and deeper into him, battering Teague's tender viscera into the shape of his cock. Blood slicks his cock as well as any cunt. Teague doesn't know when he stops breathing, going still and quiet as Balor takes his pleasure from his ruined form, but he does know he reaches his limit a lot faster than usual.

Balor lets out a hoarse, almost broken-sounding cry, and plunges so deep Teague can feel it in his stomach. His hips stutter and his cock flexes against all his ruined nerve endings. Another dry heave goes through the Milletian's broken body, but there's nothing left to come up. Balor doubles over, panting and breathless against his mouth, and he kisses him, then, tongue sliding clumsy against chapped and filthy lips, and he touches his face and tells him how amazing he is, how incredible, how wonderful, and the world begins to fade. 

* * *

His come is inside him. 

The staging area is blessedly empty, and Teague has managed to pull himself from Tech Duinn and tumble out into it, bloody and broken. Teague will piece himself back together and drag himself away, just as always, but it'll be stuck inside him until the next time he returns to the Soul Stream. Maybe longer. Maybe forever. He feels dirty and empty inside, a Balor-shaped hole in his intestines.

His body slowly begins to knit itself together. He throbs with more than just pain. Teague knows with a sick certainty he'll touch himself as soon as he can move.

**Author's Note:**

> nobody asked but i'm here again with more bad content
> 
> i refuse to explain myself
> 
> twitter: @yogoshite


End file.
